


Beware of the Chimera

by McMhuirich



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Completed, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McMhuirich/pseuds/McMhuirich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thom E. Gemcity spends his hols at the beautiful Caribbean island of Montserrat hoping to get some writing done on his latest novel. While he's there, he runs into someone from his early days at NCIS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Omen

**Author's Note:**

> I've just joined this forum deciding to give it a go. I'm happy to see some familiar 'faces'. :)

**Beware of the Chimera!**

 

_She was of divine race, not of men, in the fore part a lion, in the hinder a serpent, and in the middle a goat, breathing forth in terrible manner the force of blazing fire.  
And Bellerophon slew her, trusting the signs of the gods.  
(Homer, Iliad 6.181, 9th century BC)_

 

  
_**Chapter 1 : The Omen** _

  
  
He was running. Running for his life. Running from death personified. There was the putrid smell of decomposition and sulphur and the sickening sweetness of blood. It was all around him. Even he himself stank. He didn't want to think about it. In fact, he was way too scared of what this might mean. The air was heavy with it and it made him gag.  
  
He ran and ran and ran...and still it seemed it got him nowhere.  
  
Looking behind him, he saw nothing but oppressive darkness. Yet, there was something breathing its hot, stinking breath in his neck. He could feel it. He had no idea what that thing was. A who or a what? Did it really matter?  
  
His heart was thumping so hard it felt like it would break out of his chest any moment.  
  
No breath. No air. Except for the stinking air which made him gag.  
  
His ears... A permanent ringing sound and the rush of his blood. And something else. The snorting and growling of something big... Invisible. And still his senses were hyper assaulted by this presence which oozed evil and decay. A fire-breathing creature from hell... There was no doubt about it.  
  
Moreover, he knew there was no way outrunning it.  
  
Fear was taking a strangling grip on his heart and it made his chest feel tight.  
  
He stumbled and fell. “Oh no! Oh, no-no-no-noooo!”  
  
A deafening roar assaulted his ears and, turning onto his back, both arms held up ready to protect himself – a futile act, he soon realized – he got a visual of the hunting creature for the first time.  
  
A hell hound...Cerberus! Or no... The body of a hound, maybe, no...a lion... It had a lion's head with a goat's growing from its back, and its tail ended in the head of a snake. The...creature's eyes were flaming red as it bared its fangs.  
  
Χιμαιρα! The Khimaira or Chimaera! Something he remembered from history classes and reading all about the ancient Greek mythology...and a past case on board a ghost ship: the Chimera!  
  
His heart stopped as the creature from hell leaped at him in attack and he screamed and screamed as he felt its talons tear through his flesh.

 

-o0o-

  
  
“Sir!”  
  
Gasping, Timothy McGee shot bolt upright in his chair, the movement stopped short by the seat belt. A hand...his neighbor's hand lay on his arm and he just stared at it.  
  
Then, it dawned upon him. He'd fallen asleep and he'd had a nightmare.  
  
Oh my God!  
  
And the notion he'd made a spectacle of himself – or so he thought – proved enough to make him blush furiously. He hadn't really screamed out aloud, had he?  
  
He swallowed and closed his eyes briefly, attempting to calm down. His heart was still working at a speed more befitting a marathon runner. Heck! He had just run a marathon, hadn't he? It sure felt like one!  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” Since when had his voice changed into that of a...girl's? He cleared his throat and dug out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “Just... Fell asleep. Nightmare. Sorry.”  
  
Tim slumped in his seat, still embarrassed but relieved his voice was its normal manly deep again.  
  
“Where are my manners,” the young black woman smiled flashy white teeth – the most perfect set he'd ever seen. “I'm Leora Murphy. How do you do?”  
  
Tim accepted the proffered hand and shook it. “Timothy McGee.”  
  
“Really?” She seemed a little disappointed. “I'd have sworn you were somebody else.”  
  
But then she smiled again. “Never mind. Will you be spending your holiday on the beautiful isle of Antigua?”  
  
“Er, no. Not exactly. I'll be taking the ferry to Montserrat. And, yes, I've got some time off. Are you...?”  
  
“I'm visiting my granny...in Montserrat, so we'll probably be on the same boat.”  
  
“Visiting...” he replied. “You don't live there?”  
  
“No. My parents and I left the island when we lost our home back in 1995. Yeah…buried under some 39 feet of mud and ash when the Soufrière Hills volcano erupted. We relocated from Plymouth to DC. My father's a photographer...”  
  
They talked for a little while until Tim became pensive.  
  
“Uhm... Did I... Did I...make a lot of noise when...when I...a'hem...”  
  
She laughed, shaking her head. “No, you didn't. You were just...well...becoming restless. You gasped a little when you woke up.”  
  
“Nothing more?”  
  
“Nothing more. Really, nobody noticed,” she reassured him with a laugh. “I can see, though, you're in need of a holiday. You must be having a stressy job, right?”  
  
“Do tell!”  
  
Then, he yawned, and suddenly realizing it, he quickly brought his hand over his mouth to cover it. “Sorry....”  
  
“No need. You must be quite tired.”  
  
“I am,” Tim admitted. “My job...can be rather...taxing. And getting everything ready for my trip... You know. Rush-rush.” He grinned.  
  
“Well, I'll leave you to catch up on some sleep while you still can.”  
  
“Thanks. Sound advice.”

 


	2. The Emerald Isle

_**Chapter 2 : The Emerald Isle**_  
  
  
Bliss. That was what Tim was thinking as he was savoring a sumptuous breakfast prepared with fresh produce from the island and served on the porch overlooking the stunning blue Caribbean Sea. With a carefree smile on his face, he was watching a couple of banana twits enjoy their own little breakfast on the leftover marmalade, and on the next table, a local blackbird was pecking away at the remnants of an exotic fruit salad. An anolis lizard scurried across the floor, its colors enhanced by the rays of the morning sun.  
  
He put the last of his buttered banana bread in his mouth and finished his coffee. Leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh, he crossed his fingers behind his head. He could barely remember when he had last taken the time over a leisurely breakfast.  
  
After a while, he pushed his chair back and strolled to his favorite spot in the lush tropical gardens. Sitting in the shade of a frangipani tree, relishing its sweet frangrance, he pulled his notebook from its case and powered it up.  
  
Booking his holiday to this paradise island, he'd had some splendid ideas for his next novel. There was nothing like a holiday abroad to spend your time writing.  
  
Today, however, was not the day. The words simply wouldn't come to him, and having accomplished nothing more than a miserly little chapter, he closed his notebook again and lay down on the grass, hands behind his head, confident the plot would still be there waiting to be written. There was no rush. He had two more weeks and could just wait it out. Eventually, inspiration would.  
  
Yeah. Bliss. Pure and absolute, unadulterated bliss.  
  
After letting his eyes follow the flight of a lonely frigate bird, he soon found himself drifting off.  
  
“Hello, Mr McGee? Or should I say, Mr Thom E. Gemcity?”  
  
Tim's eyes popped open and, raising on his elbow, he squinted up towards the voice, a smile spreading across his face when he recognized the young woman.  
  
“Oh...Hello...Miss Murphy.”  
  
She showed him a book. A novel he knew only too well.  
  
“Ah...” Caught.  
  
She pointed her index to the picture at the back of _Rock Hollow_.  
  
“That's _you_ , isn't it? I _knew_ it!”  
  
“Yes, well...er...”  
  
“You're working on your next _Deep Six_ novel, aren't you? I suppose that's why you came here? To do so without....meddling fans like me keeping you from your work?” She blushed.  
  
“That's okay. Yeah, well, you found me out. Caught in the act.” He grinned and deftly changed the subject. “I'm parched. Care to join me for a drink at the pool bar?”  
  
“How about your...”  
  
“Ah, never mind. Today's not my day, apparently. After all, I'm also here to enjoy some time off. Let's go.”

 

  
-o0o-

 

 

“...and then there was this rat...and he totally hates rats...”  
  
“A...Timothy McGee?”  
  
Tim squinted up at the speaker, shading his eyes against the sun glaring from behind the other man.  
  
The faintly familiar man shrugged. “You don't recognize me, do you? Can't say I'm surprised. We didn't really work together much anyway.”  
  
He grinned. “I daresay, I wasn't so sure about you, myself.” He waved his hand at Tim's navy shorts and open short sleeved white cotton shirt. “Not used to seeing you in anything else but your...ah...working clothes.”  
  
Tim sat up as memories of his early days at NCIS DC came back to him and his eyes lit up.  
  
“Gerald? Gerald Jackson! Ducky's assistant!”  
  
“That's right. Been a long time, eh?” Gerald chuckled.  
  
“Wow! What a...coincidence!”  
  
He just stared at the other man until it dawned on him Leora was still there waiting patiently, sipping at her rum punch.  
  
“Oh. Sorry. Where are my manners. Uhm... Miss Murphy...Leora... This is a...former colleague...”  
  
Gerald leaned in to shake Leora's hand, smiling broadly. “Gerald Jackson. But 'Gerald' will do.”  
  
“So, tell me, Gerald. What brings you here? Also holidaying?” Tim asked, taking in the man. “You're looking good, Gerald. It's been...what? 6...7 years?”  
  
Gerald grinned, a reminiscent look in his dark eyes. “Yeah. Shortly after...my injury, I got an offer from a friend for the post of physician here at the main hospital on the island. Didn't need to think twice. My shoulder wasn't healing as fast as I'd have liked, and so I needed a lot of physio.” He shrugged. “Since I was unable to return to my job at autopsy for quite some time, I resigned as soon as got this offer. Frankly, my encounter with Haswari left me a little tense,” he finished with a rueful smile.  
  
“Besides, working with living patients is...”  
  
A beep coming from his pager interrupted what he was going to say. He read the message and with an apologetic smile, he put his pager back in his pocket. “Sorry, guys. Duty calls.” He started walking away, but then turned around: “How long will you be staying here, Timothy?”  
  
“I'm not due back at work until the 25th.”  
  
“Super! See you around, then.”  
  
Tim stared after Gerald as he jogged away.  
  
“Autopsy?” Leora asked, wondering.  
  
A rustling sound and movement made Tim jump and he watched in surprise as an iguana slithered from under his chair, between his feet and away into the tropical undergrowth.  
  
“What the...?”  
  
Leora laughed toothely. “You'll get used to them. Unless you're afraid of them?”  
  
“No. I'm not. Just took me by surprise. Is all.”  
  
He reflected on her first question. “Yeah. He was the assistant to our Medical Examiner...at NCIS. Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I'm a Fed. A naval cop.”  
  
“Awesome! Now I see where you get your inspiration from.”  
  
“Yeah. Well, it's a job as any other. And the series, BTW, is pure fiction.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
She returned her attention to her rum punch but soon had another question for Tim. “Tell me: back on the plane, what were you dreaming about? It certainly seemed to freak you out.”  
  
He took a deep breath before replying. “You really want to know that?”  
  
“I've always learned dreams have a meaning. They can be portents of things to happen.”  
  
Tim took a swig from his Carib ginger shandy and nodded. It did make sense. “I was running from a Chimera. At night, when I think of it, I just can't shake this uneasy feeling of dread.”  
  
“What's a...”  
  
“...Chimera? It's a...” he cleared his throat before continuing, “is a fire breathing monster made out of several creatures joined together in one: it has the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a serpent. If you know she has the hell hound Cerberus and the Hydra for siblings... Sighting he Chimera was seen as an omen of storms, shipwrecks, and natural disasters. Volcanoes, in particular. After all, the beast was named after... What? What's wrong?” Tim asked in genuine concern at Leora's stricken features.  
  
“Natural disasters? Like hurricanes? Volcanoes?”  
  
“Yeah?” He blinked and shook his head. “Wait a minute. Don't tell me you believe this crap? Heck! It was just a bad dream. Most likely due to lack of sleep. I'm prone to nightmares when I'm not sleeping well.”  
  
“So you just intend to pass it off as a figment of your imagination?”  
  
“You can't truly believe these stories? C'mon, Leora!” Tim laughed...until he noticed she really didn't think it funny.  
  
“I wouldn't lightly ignore such warnings, Timothy. Remember we're living with...no...ON a volcano? Every day, the inhabitants of Montserrat have to live with the threat of another eruption. Every day, they're ready to pack and leave. Nearly half the island is exclusion zone. The warnings still stand for pyroclastic flows and earthquakes. The dome's still growing. Souffrière Hills is still active. You shouldn't laught at these things, Timothy.”  
  
“Really, that's just superstituous bull.... I'm sorry, if I...”  
  
With a sigh, Leora waved away his apologies. “I should be the one to apologize. I can't expect you to know what's happened here and the hazards the people here face. Anyway, if you'd like, I can take you on a tour around the island. At least, to those parts where we're allowed to travel.”  
  
“Uhm...”  
  
“Say 'yes', Timothy.”  
  
“Okay. I'd love to go on a tour with you. Was going to book a guided tour anyway.”  
  
“Deal, then?”  
  
“Deal!”  
  
“Timothy? Promise me you'll let me know if you have...more such dreams?”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“Good. Now I'll let you get on with you writing...Thom.” She winked and left him alone.  
  
Then, a spark of inspiration struck! That was all he needed to hurry and power up his notebook again...before the moment passed.

 


	3. The Little Apple of Death

 

_**Chapter 3 : The Little Apple of Death**_

  
The next morning, Tim woke up to sweet birdsong, feeling pretty relaxed. Those past days of doing nothing else but doze, write, walk, swim, eat delicious food...had had a most beneficial impact on him.  
   
Yawning, he turned onto his back for a nice, long and luxurious stretch. It made him groan in delight. If he were a cat, he'd purr for sure.  
   
Lacing his fingers behind his head, he stared lazily up at the ceiling, at the dancing ripples from the sun reflecting on the outside pool. So what was he going to do today? Leora had invited him and Gerard for a visit to the MVO, the Montserrat Volcano Observatory.  
   
All of a sudden, his thoughts were interrupted by a terrified yell that even silenced the chorus of twittering birds.  
   
He quickly rolled out of bed and, not even bothering to put on some more clothes, he rushed out of his room in little else but his boxers.  
   
Tim looked around. Where had the yell come from? He then noticed some people at the south end of the passageway and ran after them, then down a short flight of steps and through the lush garden towards the breakfast room.  
   
Pushing his way between the shocked guests, he found himself standing staring down on a man in his early forties having fallen from his chair as he was having breakfast.  
   
He'd seen the man around. An active man; and his body was a testimony of his good, healthy life style.  
   
Now, the man's once handsome features were contorted, revealing some agony he must've endured. There was a bluish tint around his lips and what looked like the trace of blisters in his half open mouth. All this evidence spoke volumes of how the victim had died an agonizing death.  
   
Just to make sure, Tim knelt beside the victim and held his fingers against the carotid artery. Finding no pulse, he got back up and ran his fingers through his hair as, out of professional habit, he let his eyes scan the scene, not missing the morsels of breakfast still left on the man's plate, the shattered glass on the ground and the spilled fruit juice...  
   
 _Not this! Not now! Not during his holidays!_  
   
“Well. Seems like somebody finally got the bugger.”  
   
Tim turned around at the familiar voice.  
   
“What's that, Gerald?”  
   
“That's the infamous George Cullin; suspected of narcotics trafficking in the Caribbean. Known to recruit young, naive tourists making them believe it's easy money and no big deal. And other unsavory things.”  
   
“So... I guess you don't think he died a natural death?”  
   
Gerald didn't answer and stooped down to examine the victim more closely, taking care not to disturb anything. Then, he looked up at Tim from his kneeling position.  
   
“You don't have your camera concealed somewhere in your boxers, do you?” Gerald asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, despite the circumstances. But then, he was instantly serious again. “We need to photograph all of this.”  
   
Tim, still blushing from the earlier remark, quickly acknowledged.  
   
“My thinking exactly. I'll get it.”  
   
“Do. Okay, people. This room is now a crime scene. Please step away and go to the lobby. Needless to say nobody can leave the premises.”

 

-o0o-

  
   
Down at the morgue at St. John’s Hospital, Tim, Gerald and the local law enforcement officer, Inspector Daley, were discussing the case.  
   
“So now we have a murder case on our hands... Sweet...” Tim muttered. Not quite how he'd expected to spend his holidays on a paradise island...  
   
“What are your findings, Dr. Jackson?” Inspector Daley wanted to know.  
   
“Well, I tested Cullin's blood and what he had for breakfast. Oh, BTW Tim, thanks for boxing everything on the table and closing down the kitchen for today. I know the hotel staff won't be too pleased, but it can't be helped.”  
   
“So? What have you got?” Tim urged, hoping Gerald wasn't going to do a faithful Ducky imitation.  
   
“Oh yes. As I said, I tested his blood and guess what I found there. It was consistent with what I discovered in the fruit juice. Yep. Seemed like the most logical place to start.”  
   
He opened his file and started reading. “The fruit juice contained a high level of phorbol.” He looked up at Tim and recognizing the telltale signs of someone expecting more, he continued. “Want more details, right? How about this: 12-deoxy-5-hydroxyphorbol-6gamma, 7alpha-oxide, hippomanins, mancinellin, and sapogenin, phloracetophenone-2. Physostigmine.”  
  
Tim rolled his eyes. He was in no mood for games. Gerald, noticing this, harumphed and continued.  
  
“ I found the same toxins in his blood. In short, the consumption of Hippomane Mancinella  
proved fatal for our man. No doubt about that. Come and take a look at this.”  
   
He motioned the others over to the other side of the room and grabbed a jar holding a badly inflamed and swollen tongue. “His throat didn't look any better.”  
   
“Are you saying someone served him some juice of the Little Apple of Death for breakfast?”  
   
“Ah?” Gerald looked up from the page a little surprised, yet pleased. “So you have heard about it? The Death Apple or Beach Apple? But, yeah, that's what he's been given to drink. Or rather someone spiced his fruit juice up a bit with the milky sap. By the severe and instantaneous reaction, I can safely say the killer squeezed a liberal dash of the alkaloid in Cullin’s fruit juice. Powerful and quick. He died from anaphylactic shock…A rather severe allergic reaction. Not a pleasant death.”  
   
Tim nodded slowly, then motioned Gerald to go on. “At first, he would've experienced a burning sensation in his throat soon after ingestion, followed by swelling to such an extent his throat must've become really tight and constricted.”  
   
Tim shivered involuntarily, thinking of his own encounters with poison ivy. He decided he would steer clear from this killer tree. With his medical history of allergies of all kinds...  
   
“Dr. Jackson, are you sure he's our only victim?” Daley asked.  
   
The former ME assistant shrugged. “Affirmative. As far as we know, there were no other cases. None of the other guests who'd had breakfast showed any ill effects. Nor did I find any more traces of the poison.”  
   
Tim nodded in agreement and looked over at the officer in charge on this island, pointing at the file in front of the man.  
   
“And this file contains all you've gathered on the man over the years? Anyone of...his victims mentioned in it still here?”  
   
“Yes. We've never been able to put the man behind bars for lack of hard evidence of his criminal activities. A cunning bloke, if ever there was one, running an evil agenda.” Daley snorted. “Folk the likes of him give our beautiful island a bad reputation. The person that did him in will be praised for his actions.”  
   
Tim regarded him rather curiously.  
   
“Let's say he had it coming. And good riddance it was, too.”  
   
“Okay, let's sit down and see what we can do about it. I have a feeling our efforts won't be appreciated by the Montserr...whatever?”  
   
“Montserratians,” the Inspector obliged. “No. However, we have our responsibilities. Like it or not, whoever did this will have to pay the consequences, even if he or she have done the island community a service.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve seen the trees when in the Caribbean but wisely decided against getting too near them and I certainly didn’t touch any of the many fruits and leaves littering the ground.  
> I’ve done some research on the symptoms of manchineel poisoning and have come to the conclusion that many of the statements are contradictory; some people died (probably because they were hypersensitive), others were hardly affected by eating the fruit. On one site, I read that “one apple is sufficient to kill 20 people” and on another that a couple of tourists ingested an apple and found it “to be quite sweet and tasty”. They suffered no lasting effects after an anti-histamine treatment.  
> Furthermore, I’m not medically trained and I’m definitely no expert on toxic plants even if my garden is infested with them.


	4. To Hell and Back

 

_**Chapter 4 : To Hell and Back**_  
  
  
The kettle drum band on the radio ZJB faded out when it was time for the 11 o'clock news: “ _MVO observations have shown several changes on the volcano. Steam venting activity has increased and a new fumarole has appeared on the northwest face of the lava dome behind Gages Mountain._ ”  
  
Yes, the authorities didn't stop warning for more significant activity in the coming days.  
  
And Tim didn't like it a bit.  
  
However, right now, Tim was steering the rental along the beautiful, winding and harsh terrain to Molyneaux.  
  
He'd spent all of yesterday afternoon at the police station, going over a bunch of files Inspector Daley had given him.  
  
By carefully correlating the information and after elimination he was left with a handful of suspects. When Tim mentioned one of them, Paul Dobbs, Inspector Daley, much to Tim's surprise, burst into a laughing fit.  
  
“Preposterous! Look, Paul's what you would call a nerd. And did you see his age? Come now! He's just turned 16 and still a boy!” He shook his head. “More to the point; he wouldn't harm a fly, that one. He get's queasy at the sight of blood.”  
  
“His sister got raped. Cullin's name has been mentioned in that case. An unsolved case, too, since the perpetrator's never been caught. Moreover, the boy was very vocal about avenging his sister's abuse. He hasn't been really subtle about accusing Cullins.”  
  
“I think you've got it all wrong on that one, Agent McGee. Moreover, basing your evidence on mere speculations, and the sole fact his sister got raped and that Cullin had been questioned as a potential suspect, just isn't enough to go after Paul.”  
  
“I think you'd be surprised about the lengths teenagers go when protecting a loved one. He sure has motive, not to mention opportunity since he's working at the hotel as an extra. As he had been at the time Cullin got murdered.” Tim doggedly countered, a little miffed the man so easily rejected this promising lead.  
  
Inspector Daley, though, was unyielding. “The Dobbs family has been through so much. I'm not going to bring in their son for questioning. Not until I get hard evidence he's involved.”  
  
Daley gathered his files. “I've got business to attend to. I bid you a good day, Agent McGee.” He opened the door but hesitated, his hand still on the knob. “I really hope you got it wrong, you know? I...” He stopped short what he was about to say and left.  
  
Tim stared after him and then ran a hand through his hair.

 

 

-o0o-

 

  
  
The news reports had been mainly about the Cullins murder and that even got pushed more and more to the background by the increased seismic activity and ash fall in Soufrière Hills.  
  
Tim couldn't shake the bad premonition the fire dragon was going for a real deep, resounding belch. The question now was, when.  
  
After Daley's dismissal, he'd gone to the library to read on the crime reports on the island of which, thankfully, there were few. With his own findings and what both Gerald and Leora had added about the Dobbs' case, he was now even more than before sure about Paul Dobbs' involvement.  
  
The few people he'd interviewed had all mentioned his frequent returns to the abandoned family property in Molyneaux on the northern flanks of the Soufrière Hills.  
  
At first, droplets of rain splattered against the windshield which had Tim utter a soft curse as he recalled last night's weather forecast and lahar warnings.  
  
His recurring dreams of the Chimera and gut feeling of impending doom didn't really help making him feel better.  
  
Soon, the torrential rain obliterated the road ahead and the surrounding rainforest. The sound of heavy drops pelting down on the roof rang loud in the car, almost blocking out the ring of Tim's cell phone.  
  
Pulling out his phone, he addressed the caller, raising his voice enough to be heard above the downpour, “hold on,” before dropping the device on the passenger seat.  
  
The wiper blades raking back and forth across the windshield were fighting a losing battle for a clear view as he pulled over to the verge and stopped the car.  
  
Staring out at the heavy cloak of rain, he picked up his phone again. “Hello?”  
  
“Tim? It's me. Leora. I'm now with Gerald. He explained to me you were heading for the Dobbs' old home in Molyneaux.”  
  
Tim sighed. So much for confiding in Gerald and relying on his professionalism, and he wondered how long it would take for the news to spread through the island community.  
  
“Why did he...”  
  
“No matter! Just listen. Paul Dobbs is also on his way to his former home. Tell me: where are you now?”  
  
He relayed to her the last location from his GPS.  
  
“He must've suspected something. Tim! He can't be too far behind you!”  
  
“Don't worry, Leora. I'm...”  
  
Whatever he was going to say, died unspoken on his lips as a shadow suddenly loomed from out of nowhere to stand beside his car. Without preamble, the stranger janked open the door to deliver Tim a nasty clout on the head.  
  
Taken by surprise, mainly because his attention was directed towards the phone conversation, his reflexes were slow and before he knew it, he listed to the side as if in slow motion, the cell slipping from his fingers.  
  
His vision blurred and the sound of the rain died to a whisper and then...nothing.  
  
The squall had gone as suddenly as it had started and the man pushed Tim's unconscious body into the passenger seat before gliding behind the wheel, close the door and drive off.  
  
A little further down the road, Paul Dobbs left the main road and soon he was out of the forest.  
  
Then, he turned right for about 200 yards. He stopped the car, got out and quickly rounded the car whilst putting on a pair of gloves. Throwing open the door on the passenger side, Dobbs proceeded to haul out Tim's unconscious body.  
  
He quickly started undressing Tim but leaving on his pants and shoes, before dragging the halfnaked man to a tree. He hurriedly sat Tim leaning against the tree with his head fallen forward as if asleep, his long slender legs stretched out. Next, he arranged Tim's clothes into a neat bundle and left them beside the still knocked-out agent.  
  
Dobbs had worked efficiently and fast and, walking back to the car, he shook off the raincoat and deftly rolled the garment into a ball, making sure he wouldn't get in contact with any of the moisture. Getting inside the car, he tossed the garment on the floor, started the car and drove off.  
  
The leafy killer tree oozed its milky white sap and poisoned rain water onto the man who was totally unaware of the extreme danger he was in.

 

-o0o-

  
  
“Hey! Isn't that Tim's rental?” Leora exclaimed, hitting the dashboard with the flat of her hand as if willing the car to go faster.  
  
“I know! I know!” Gerald replied, hitting the brakes.  
  
Leora turned to him; baffled. “Oy! What's that for? Aren't you going after him?” She couldn't believe he was giving up when they were this close.  
  
Gerald turned to face her.  
  
“He came from this secondary road and back onto the main road. Why, do you think, would he do that?” He calmly explained.  
  
“Oh, no! Tim! That's why! Dobbs couldn't have gone that far into that direction.”  
  
“And Dobbs is alone in Tim's car. And we both know he's abandoned his own... Ergo....”  
  
Leora stared at him intently before taking a decision. “Let me out, here. You go after him.”  
  
Gerald grinned as she threw open the door and hopped out. “That had been my intention, missus.”  
  
As the doctor drove off, Leora heard an ominous sound. One she had come to recognize. One all Montserratians knew too well.  
  
The Soufrière Hills were waking up again.  
  
She felt the slightest of tremors below her feet. She'd been feeling them at intervals since she'd been back on the Emerald Isle and she knew what that meant.  
  
She looked towards the Soufrière Hills and saw a huge steam plume rise against the skyline.  
  
There was no time to lose.  
  
Leora ran down the side road from which they'd seen Dobbs emerge, making sure she wouldn't miss anything out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, she was praying for Gerald, hoping with all her heart he would be careful and heed the signs of the reawakening volcano.  
  
There! Something was moving.  
  
Somebody.  
  
Pitiful sounds came from the stricken federal agent. His upper body was an angry red color and covered with burns and blisters. He was writhing in excruciating pain. She knew he was feeling as if being burned alive.  
  
“Oh Tim...”  
  
She rushed forward, toward him and without hesitation, she quickly grabbed a hold of Tim's legs and dragged him to safety; away from under the deadly and dripping canopy.  
  
Above the growing rumble of the volcano, an engine could be heard and it made her look up briefly, relieved to see Gerald's car come to a stop.  
  
He left the car and hurried over to help her carry Tim to the car.  
  
Another loud crack made the earth quake and a cloud of ash and gas shot up from the volcano.  
  
Ignoring the rumbling volcano and doing their best not to pay any heed to Tim's screams and thrashing, they loaded him onto the backseat and drove off.  
  
Looking back through the rear window, Leora saw the first pyroclastic flows rolling down Gages Valley and into Spring Ghaut as the new dome, which had steadily grown in the old crater, finally collapsed.  
  
“Step on it, Gerald!”  
  
“I'm going as fast as I can, Leora!” He yelled back, his face grim with anxiety. He chanced a quick glance towards Tim from the rear viewer.  
  
Tim, the pain having been too much to bear, soon found himself gratefully slipping away into oblivion.  
  
“He's not doing too well, eh?”  
  
Leora bit her lips and shook her head. What could she say? Tim could very well be dying.  
  
“He's suffering from severe contact dermatitis...and more,” Gerald, going into clinical modus, explained.  
  
“Will he make it?”  
  
“He will, if we get him at St. John's in time.”  
  
Leora nodded, trusting him.  
  
She looked back at the darkening skies behind her as plumes of ash were billowing from the volcano. The fumes of sulphur found their way into the car...  
  
...which brought her back to...  
  
“Eh....Paul Dobbs?”  
  
“He was way ahead of me, but I'm sure he was still heading for his old home...if not already there. Then...I felt something... Nearly lost control of the car. I decided it was time to make my getaway. Didn't trust it. The volcano was steaming and, I tell ya, she was venting huge quantities of steam! Air was stinking heavy with sulphur, too.”  
  
“Do you think he...”  
  
“No. There's no way he made it out of there in time. His home's in the southern most part of the town.”  
  
Leora shuddered.  
  
Soon, they left the gates of the exclusion zone behind them and both breathed out a sigh of relief.  
  
They were safe from the Chimera.

 

 

* * *

 

  
lahar [g2;lɑh0;hɑh0;] n.  
a landslide of volcanic debris mixed with water down the sides of a volcano, usually precipitated by heavy rainfall  
[from Javanese: lava]

 


	5. Aftermath

**Chapter 5** **: Aftermath**

As they were rushing Tim to the hospital, occasionally honking the horn in warning, his condition was significantly worsening. One moment, his hands were everywhere as the itching of the inflamed hot skin became unbearable, the pain of the burns just as intolerable; the other moment, he slipped into unconsciousness, which alarmed Gerald and Leora even more, as this was one symptom that didn't make sense.

A short stop allowed Leora to take Gerald's place at the wheel whilst he moved to the back to attend to Tim and make a call to St. John's hospital explaining in concise terms the status of his patient. When he disconnected, he informed Leora about the change of plans: an emergency charter would await them on the airstrip at St. Gerald's to transfer Tim to St. John's, Antigua.

St. John's Hospital, while the main medical facility on Montserrat and able to handle most of the routine medical matters, was deemed inadequate to treat this severe type of allergic reaction. It was decided Tim would need to be airlifted to neighboring Antigua where they were better equipped.

As Leora negociated the winding roads, Gerald checked Tim's vitals. That's when he noticed a large lump on the side of Tim's head. It certainly explained the condition in which they'd found him, lying half undressed against the trunk of the manchineel tree, barely conscious and in no shape to get away from the danger, as well as his current albeit transient lapses of consciousness.

"Can you please step on it, Leora?"

After a brief glance backwards at the two men, she pressed her lips together and said nothing. Her face set in determination, she strained her eyes through the falling darkness which came so fast in this part of the world.

"There's more, isn't there, Gerald?"

"Well, it's plain to see he has an acute case of allergic dermatitis and," he switched on the little light overhead to check Tim's face, "I wouldn't be surprised if we also have to deal with ocular reaction. It certainly looks like he's managed to rub some of the latex into his eyes. And he's obviously concussed. Dobbs must've clouted him hard."

"I'd consider that a blessing, if you'd ask me." Leora muttered.

"What's that? Oh! Yeah." Gerald nodded in grim agreement. "The concussion is the least of his problems. Of course, I can't tell how bad the trauma is."

Tim shifted restlessly. He was lying curled up in the back seat and semi-conscious. His hands, showing traces of the latex that had dropped from the tree, went up to his face to rub at the inflamed skin which was itching mightily. The swelling of his left eye lid gave him the appearance of a boxer who had taken a direct hit on it.

Gerald gingerly took hold of Tim's hands and brought them down, yet well away from his torso which was an angry red color, mottled with a bad rash developing blisters, and painful to the touch. Gerald covered Tim's hands with his, speaking soothingly.

"No! Tim! You don't want to do that."

"Hot..." Tim murmured.

"I know, Tim. I know. Just try to lie still, okay? We'll get you help."

"Can ff...feel...'is breath... Hot..." Tim tried to get onto his back but Gerald held him firmly in place.

"What the hell was that about?" Gerald was thinking.

The next moment, his eyes popped open...or he tried to open them.

"Burning! Burning my face! My eyes! Hurts!"

Gerald, reading the fear in Tim's one eye that wasn't as much affected as his left, had his hands full with keeping his patient calm.

"Tim, listen to me! You'll be fine. Hear that?"

Tim didn't answer; he just whimpered.

He turned to Leora. "How much longer? His pulse is getting erratic."

"Chimera..." Tim moaned.

"What am I missing, here?" Gerald asked rather frustratedly. This was no normal behavior for an allergic reaction, however caustic, nor for a simple concussion.

"The _Chimera_. Greek mythological and firebreathing beast. He'd got some nightmares about it. He must be reliving that."

"Are you serious?"

"Very."

She swerved the car sharply and sighed in relief. "We're here..."

They'd made it to St. Gerald's airport in record time. Yet, both were grim faced as they quickly got out of the car as medical personnel lifted Tim onto a gurney and quickly wheeled him to the waiting plane.

Before mounting the boarding steps and following Tim inside, Leora and Gerald cast a glance towards the not too distant beautifully candescent and rumbling Soufrière Hills.

As the charter took off, an EMT started administering pain medication and anti-histamines to reduce the swelling and prevent further allergic reactions.

Leora, looking away from them and instead peering outside the small window, had the most spectacular view of the erupting volcano. In the surrounding darkness, the red glow of the pyroclastic flows rolling off the slopes was just stunning. A little scary, but impressive nonetheless. She still couldn't believe they'd been so close when the beast came to life again. They'd been so close to perishing with Dobbs.

She sighed and looked around the plane. She certainly hoped the pilot knew what he was doing. They were extremely lucky that the wind had been right for them to take off.

-o0o-

The next day, Tim woke up from a medicated sleep, feeling a little disoriented.

A sheet covered him from his navel down, leaving his upper body naked. There was unmistakable smell of antiseptics.

A hospital, then.

Still groggy, he took stock of his condition, trying to remember what had landed him in a hospital bed.

He blinked in an effort to get rid of the blurriness. His eyes! He lifted his hand to his face but someone intercepted it and brought it back down.

"Hey, there, Tim."

He directed his gaze towards the voice which he now recognized as Gerald's.

"Eyes..." Tim croaked.

Gerald quickly slipped some ice chips onto his tongue. He felt grateful for the cooling effect they had on his achy throat.

"Your eyes will be okay, Tim. Don't you fret."

"They...they... Man! They feel like they're superglued. Like Tony's pulled off another of his pranks on me..."

Gerald laughed. It was good to hear Tim joke about it.

But then, Tim was all serious again. "Will I..."

"Can't you trust me on this one, Tim? What part of "your eyes will be okay" don't you get?"

"Sore..."

Gerald got up from his chair and bent over Tim to check. The green eyes were bloodshot and the lids – both of them – were still swollen and would be so for another 3 or 4 days.

"With the antibiotic gentamicin sulfate drops which will prevent secondary infection, you'll be fine, Tim. The swelling will gradually disappear but you'll have to endure some persisting granular feeling and pain which should be gone by tomorrow. Rest assured, you won't go blind."

"Good..."

Still hooked up to an IV to which a nurse had administered his dosage of Benadryl, he was feeling woozy. A side effect that would take some time to wear off. But the good side was that he would sleep through most of his stay at the hospital.

The area of his body which had been exposed to the tree's poisonous sap, had been cleansed to remove the latex. They'd taken care to leave the blisters intact as much as they could. A treatment of antihistamines would minimize the edema and rash.

Thankfully, he would be free of most of the symptoms after a few days. The blisters, of course, would take a little longer to disappear entirely, but at least they wouldn't be that painful anymore. The doctors had assured him he would have no lasting effects of his encounter with the most dangerous tree in the world.

During his stay at the hospital, he enjoyed the company of both Gerald and Leora whenever they paid him a visit. They'd stayed in St. John's, Antigua for another day before returning home and to their jobs.

Tim remained on medication with the worst of his burns and abrasions being dressed and the rest of his skin being treated with a corticosteroid ointment.

And he slept...a lot. Occasionally, he had hot flashes which rather annoyed him, and his throat still felt raw.

After having spent less than a week at the hospital, he went back to Montserrat. After all, he still had over a week before returning home. He might as well pick up his holiday where he'd left off and enjoy the luxurious time still left.

-o0o-

Leaning back in his chair, hands crossed behind his head and eyes closed, Tim was thinking about his current novel. What if he could use his own experiences?

He was wearing navy linen beach pants and a white long sleeved shirt to protect his still oversensitive skin and took great care to keep his face shaded by wearing a wide brimmed hat which he thought looked a bit silly.

"Hey, Tim," Leora greeted him, Gerald standing right beside her.

Tilting the hat a little back, Tim opened his eyes and looked at two smiling faces. Leora and Gerald were happy to see his eyes all green and clear again with no traces of irritation left. He was still using the prescribed drops, though.

"Oh! Hello!"

"Daydreaming?" Gerald laughed, taking a chair and sitting down to take a good look at Tim and approved. "You're looking good."

Tim leaned forward and took a sip from his lemonade and grinned.

"Thanks." He started to rub at an itchy little scab but Leora batted his hand away, throwing him a stern...he'd swear it was a motherly...look at him.

"Use your special lotion instead of scratching at them."

"At least, it's not as bad anymore...which reminds me of my encounters with poison ivy."

"And?" Gerald prompted.

"Gibbs recommended a paste of vinegar and baking soda. Now I know Gibbs is usually right about things. Now I wonder...would it have helped me, now?"

"I really doubt the effectiveness of Gibbs' recommendation." Gerald chuckled, thinking of Gibbs.

"Hmm..."

They talked some more, enjoying each other's company and laughing as the two men remembered anecdote upon anecdote from back at NCIS.

Tim took off his hat and sat back again, letting the cool Caribbean breeze touch his face and ruffle his hair as he watched the setting sun...setting...lower on the horizon...and lower still...till...

"I wonder... This green flash. Have you ever seen it?"

"Well, the conditions are perfect for one, now. Why don't we watch out for it?"

And, sure enough, as the top of the solar disk practically vanished, they were rewarded with a brief one or two seconds of the green glow.

Tim let out his breath which he'd been holding without knowing and smiled contentedly.

In the distance, the sounds of the soca song Hot-Hot-Hot could be heard and Gerald and Leora burst out laughing when Tim emitted a long, low groan that couldn't be missed.

"What? Can I help it this song now brings back rather unpleasant memories of my body feeling like it had been soaked in _Susie's Hot Sauce_?"

-o0o-

**Back in DC**

Tony and Ziva were quietly talking when their conversation was interrupted by the familiar ding from the elevator.

As one, they looked up expectantly. Today, McGee was returning from his vacation. They couldn't remember when he'd last taken such a long vacation. He'd earned it, alright, but now they were glad he was back.

They weren't disappointed: there he was, striding into the bullpen on this sunny morning; confident gait and a broad smile on his face.

Face...?

His face!

Not the unblemished skin with a nice healthy tan. No. His thin face showed some discolored patches. As their eyes went to his hand holding onto the strap of his backpack, they saw the same there.

Moreover, for a three weeks' holiday on a Caribbean paradise island, he sure didn't look as tanned as they'd have expected.

He deliberately walked to his desk where he dropped his bag and sat down and, ignoring their questioning faces, proceeded to power up his workstation.

As he'd expected, they moved over to stand in front of his desk.

"You...don't look tan, Probie," Tony started.

Tim just smiled, saying nothing.

"Did you, perhaps, not enjoy your holiday in the Caribbean?" Ziva asked?

Still that enigmatic smile, but this time he looked up from what he was doing and replied.

"You can read about it in my next novel. How's that?"

"C'mon, McSecretive! Surely you can tell us more?" Tony prodded.

Then, he laughed heartily as he thought of something. "Ohohohoooo... No way. Your poor delicate skin can't tolerate the sun? What sunscreen did you use? Factor 30 sun block?"

Tim opened his mouth in reply when Gibbs exited the elevator, rounded his desk and opened his drawer where he kept his gun and badge.

"Glad you could join us again, McGee. Grab your gear, all. We have a fried marine..."

**FIN**  
 **DE REQUIN**

**Author's Note:**

> A bit short to start with, but there it is.


End file.
